NOVEL FROG 211 - The Stalkers
“Lieze-” The fresh gales atop the cliff buffeted the duo’s faces as they stepped out of the tower, “I can’t believe you actually trust those Sages. They have nothing to gain from telling you the truth, so why believe them?”
“I don’t believe them.” She asserted, “I learned everything I needed to from that exchange. They understand our ideology, but that doesn’t mean they agree with it. I’d say it’s evident enough that neither of us really trust one-another, but circumstances being how they are, our relationship will remain mutually beneficial for the time being.”
“-And if they try to betray us?” Drayya raised an eyebrow.
“Let them try.” Lieze said, “In fact, I’d prefer it that way. They’ll witness firsthand what I’m truly capable of if they try to take advantage of my generosity.”
“Lanterns?”
“Check.”
“Torches?”
“Check?”
“Headlamps?”
“Check.”
“Alright… I doubt we’re going to be any more prepared than we are now.” Roland placed both hands on his hips and surveyed the field, “What about the monster you’re cooking up for Lieze? The… the… what did you call it?”
“The Stalker.” Marché finished, “We’ve assembled a few - well, I suppose you could call them ‘prototypes’ - for Lieze to deliberate on. The Deathguards have lost plenty of sleep these past few weeks perfecting the designs, so I hope she’ll at least offer some words of gratitude.”
“Gratitude. From Lieze.” Roland exhaled through his nostrils and smirked, “You’ve got your head in the clouds. If you aren’t Drayya or Lüngen, the most you can ever expect from her is a stern ‘good job’ right before she sics more work on you.”
Leaning in, Roland peered over his shoulder and pointed an accusing finger towards the sphere of darkness half-encompassing a nearby tree stump, “What’s Baccharum up to?” he asked, “He’s been sitting on that stump for half an hour now.”
“It’s not polite to stare, gentlemen!” A voice emerged from the darkness, “Don’t think I can’t hear you talking about me! These ears were trained by one of the best assassins who ever lived, you know!”
“If you can hear us, then tell us what you’re up to!” Roland barked back.
The sphere rose up off the stump and hovered over - an act more ominous than it had any right to be. Roland was half-worried the darkness would swallow him up if he got too close. Then, lingering a few inches away, a pale hand sprouting elongated fingers emerged from the abyss clutching what appeared to be a rolled-up parcel of leaves.
“Some of the mushrooms common to this region are believed to aid in the dispersal of woodland spectres if they’re burned and the smoke is allowed to spread.” Baccharum explained, “I thought I’d roll a few sticks up just in case we ever need them.”
“Woodland spectres…” Roland repeated, “Care to elaborate?”
“The Wichts of the Black Forest…” He paused and raised his head to the clouds, “...I can hear the wings of something gargantuan. Lieze and Drayya must be on their way back. Ask me for an explanation later if you’re so curious. You can take this one, Roland.”
The tube of leaves was flared at one end and stuffed with a brownish powder. Roland wasn’t certain it was capable of doing any good, but he pocketed the item nonetheless. As he did, a silhouette flew across the grass, and he raised his head to spot something gliding through the cloudless sky.
A minute later, the Manticore had its head lowered to the ground, allowing Lieze and Drayya to hop off. Marché wandered over to greet them, folding both hands behind his back, “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t say so.” Drayya ran a hand through her frizzled hair, “But Lieze seems satisfied, so what does it matter what I say?”
Lieze looked from side to side, “Where are those new thralls you wanted to show me, Marché?”
“I was just about to bring that up.” He nodded, “Let me go fetch them.”
With the threat of an attack lower than ever, the Order was dispersed chaotically across that open plain. It took Marché longer than he would have liked to admit before the thralls in question were located, corralling each of them through the disorganised horde back to the Manticore whose maned head rose like a beacon above the rabble.
As they broke into the sunlight, Lieze ran her eyes over their sinewy, exposed musculature. The thralls were four-legged, lean, and restless, each of the three present varying slightly in size. The rows of serrated teeth sidling from the tips of their sunken noses to their lower necks allowed the beasts to open their maws wide enough to swallow a grown man whole if the fancy struck them. So cavernous were their mouths, even, that Lieze couldn’t help but notice they were eyeless.
Stalker
Level 20 Undead
HP - 2,299 / 2,299 MP - 0 / 0
BODY - 20 MIND - 0 SOUL - 0
“We’ve got the design down to a science, if you would allow me to toot my own horn for a moment.” Marché began, “The small footprint and lean body lends them a nimbleness not seen in most thralls, and their sense of smell is worlds apart from our own. The large jaws allow them to clamp down on joints, preventing any chance of a clean escape, and it should go without saying that they’ll outpace just about anything on a straightaway.”
“How difficult were they to make?” Lieze asked.
“It took a few days’ worth of experimentation to get the physiology just right, but the construction is remarkably simple once you get the hang of it.” He explained, “Depending on the size, you could easily create a Stalker from just one or two Gravewalkers.”
Mobility and savagery. From a distance, they appeared more like beasts than undead abominations. Baccharum had expounded the complexity of Akzhem’s reaches and the sheer verticality of its design on more occasions than Lieze could bear to remember, but his constant warnings served as a reminder that the average Gravewalkers, Horrors, and Rot Behemoths wouldn’t be capable of traversing the region.
“These will suit our needs nicely.” Lieze nodded, “You’ve done well, Marché. I want as many of our weaker thralls transposed into these beastly shells as possible.”
“Are we waiting another day before we move on?” He asked.
“No.” She answered, “We enter Akzhem today. Baccharum has told me that the Elves won’t stray too close to the Black Forest’s edges on account of the sunlight trickling in, so we’ll have plenty of time to adjust to the darkness before we run into any trouble.”
“...I suppose it was bound to happen at some point.” Marché sighed, “I’ll relay this to the others. We should be ready to depart in the next hour.”
The darkness welcomed the caravan with open arms as it drew close. Like the maw of some celestial creature, with the trunks of the Great Oaks its discoloured teeth, humid air wafted from the shaded woodland, the air grew stuffy around Lieze’s neck, and only the forbidden flame of the lantern hanging at her waist illuminated the alien surroundings.
Quest “The Black Forest” Completed!
Reward - 4,500xp
Heightened Potential Progress - 49,402 / 50,000
She caught sight of Baccharum, his pale body captured in half-dark, with one hand held horizontally against his forehead. The blethering tongue of Elvenfolk escaped from his gullet in hoarse whispers - a prayer uttered feverishly and without finesse.
She and her cohorts had always been the exiles of the world. They, the necromancers, had been confined to the Deadlands for centuries, and were only just recently emerging to sow chaos within the holds of the living. But crossing the threshold of Akzhem, where the childlike fears of men seemed so much more poignant than within the light, she could feel a chill running down her spine. The twisting bark of the oaks, she thought, seemed to be leering at her in the dark, observing like some patient predator.
As they wheeled in, across the twisting roots which sprouted from the soil like great wooden hills, the light at their backs dwindled through labyrinthine branches, leaves, and curling vines. Every now and again, a Deathguard would stop, falter, and gaze over their shoulder towards the salvation of light which dimmed with every passing second.
“How strange it is to return home unannounced and unwelcome after so many years.” Baccharum drew close to Lieze’s wagon and paced alongside it, “The conveniences of men and societies are muted here, where the darkness seems to confound every attempt to master it. This has always been our homeland, but much like wandering into a stranger’s home, our customs often involve paying the respect owed to these woods’ true inhabitants.”
“I have no interest in bowing my head to sprites.” Lieze replied, “My interest begins and ends with the Scion nestled deep within this land’s choking darkness. With how our luck has been recently, I’m already convinced it must be this Head Shaman who supposedly governs your people.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was.” The Elf continued, “That means we’ll be pushing deep, right into the Black City. I hope you weren’t a fan of the sun, Lieze, because you won’t be seeing it again for quite some time.”
“If all goes according to plan, I’ll never see it again full stop.” She said, “I’ll be relying on your expertise from now on, Baccharum. If something seems amiss, I’d rather hear about it right away than not at all.”
“Don’t worry yourself. As long as the bare sunlight remains in sight, we won’t be attacked by anything. The beasts of Akzhem know to steer clear of the forest’s perimeter.” He noted, “-But once we stray too far in, those lanterns will be your lifeline, and there will be plenty of bumps in the night to keep you awake. Just pray most of them are warning cries from prey, and not the loathsome growls of Onz.”
When the backlight miles behind them faded and day turned to night, Lieze was expecting a swarm of flies and midges to descend upon her flesh, or for the distant howls of malformed birdsong to fill the air. But all that came in that deepening moment of twilight was silence - silence for miles around, as if their presence was infringing upon some sacred rule of the forest.
Setting up tents aided with nothing but lamplight was more difficult than any of them could have foreseen, but within the hour, they had planted their roots and were winding down for a sleepless night in the silent woods. Lieze brought out the alchemy table and blood barrel from her Portable Home and prepared for a long night of warping flesh in an effort to fill her ranks with Stalkers.
Marché and the Deathguards’ design wasn’t amateurish by any stretch of the imagination, but there were some minor improvements to the bone structure that Lieze could imagine implementing through the dying hours of the night. She didn’t want something that was merely fast or nimble, but a predator capable of matching the reflexes of Elven assassins.
“Hm… I wonder…” While her hands manipulated flesh and blood in equal measure, an idea rose from the depths of her mind, “Why bother making assumptions about what the Elves are capable of when we have a perfectly good test subject in our own camp?”